And Your Enemies Closer
by Joon
Summary: Crowley has an errand to run in America--FINISHED!
1. Taking a Trip

Yeah, that's right. Give a little encouragement and look what happens.  
I doubt this one will have much of a plot either but it's more angsty   
than the other one, which means more fun for me to write. I guess its   
kind of a character exploration type thing.  
  
So, here it is. Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a bad day.

By all intents and purposes, Crowley knew he should be pleased with the way his day was going. He had so far tied up traffic on the more busier roads during the early morning rush hour by playing red light/green light at a mad pace and also during the lunch break hour. The amount of ill will he was generating was really quite large. Crowley should have been quite pleased. 

But something was nagging on his mind. A strange sort of sensation that he couldn't quite place but extremely annoying. Sort of like the feeling of an itch somewhere on your body that you couldn't locate to scratch. It was causing him to grow into a fouler mood as the hours passed. 

Waving the door to his apartment open, Crowley strolled into his living room and noted the plants on his windowsill visibly straighten with nervous anticipation. Perhaps dumping one a little earlier than the usual time would cheer him up or at least shake him out of this feeling of gloom that he had. Walking up to the neatly sitting row, Crowley slowly took off his sunglasses, the gesture looking rather menacing. 

The yellow, slit eyes roved from each plant to the next, narrowed slightly in exaggerated inspection as each plant did its best not to quiver or feel fear. They believed Crowley could smell fear. But one potted green on the far right couldn't help but twitch slightly, catching the demon's notice. A smile formed on Crowley's face. 

"Well, say goodbye to your friend..." he began as he reached for the now completely wilted plant. Why should it bother keeping up appearances if it was going into the bin now anyway?

"CROWLEY?"

Stopping in his move to grab the plant, Crowley turned around to look in the general direction of his stereo system where the voice seemed to be coming from. 

"Ah..hello, lord."

"WE HAVE TWO NEW ARRIVALS, CROWLEY," continued the rather smug sounding voice. 

"Errr...that's nice, lord" replied the demon, confused. Hell got plenty of new arrivals every day. Were they getting so pathetic down there that they needed to call him to gloat about a measly two souls being brought down?

"TWO SPECIAL ARRIVALS," clarified the still smug voice.

The demon moved to inquire why special but he was beaten to the punch as the information fell on his head with all the ceremony of an anvil falling on a cartoon character's head.  

"Fuck," muttered the demon.

"WE ARE VERY PLEASED."

"Pleased? Why would-

More information came falling in. It was rather a large chunk this time, leaving Crowley wishing he could just get all of this via a fax or email. It was giving him a headache. But that was soon pushed to one side as he digested what had actually transpired in the past few days, completely unnoticed by him. 

"DO NOT WORRY, CROWLEY. YOUR NEGLIGANCE WILL NOT BE PUNISHED. WE WERE ALL UNDER IT."

"They came THAT close?"

"VERY MUCH SO."

"Well...." Crowley searched for how to respond. He would suggest sending the Other Side a fruit basket if such things could be done. Besides, he doubted either his side or the other would really appreciate the gesture. Instead, he asked the question he didn't really want the answer to. "How are they getting on down there?"

"WE ARE SHOWING THEM HOW MUCH WE APPRECIATED THEIR ATTEMPT AT FORSAKING ALL OF US."

"Ah. Well. That is to be expected, lord." Crowley tried in his best upbeat voice. 

"WE HAVE SOME MATTERS FOR YOU TO ATTEND TO, CROWLEY."

The demon didn't even bother asking as the rest of the information crashed on in. 

"HAVE A NICE TRIP, CROWLEY."

"Thank you, lord," answered the demon. The stereo system remained silent.

Crowley scowled. And after that, he walked around his apartment, having completely forgotten about disposing of the earlier plant. He let out a string of more colorful curses but they weren't his usual. He wasn't just angry this time or annoyed. There was something else mixed in this whole affair. 

Shoving his sunglasses back over his eyes, the demon retrieved his leather jacket from the chair he had slung it over earlier and prepared to leave. He didn't make a plane reservation. He knew he'd have a seat.

As he prepared to leave, Crowley realized he probably would be gone for a couple of days. He also remembered that he had promised to meet Aziraphale later for an early dinner tonight. He'd have to call to cancel. But as he reached for the titanium looking phone that sat on his pristine desk, Crowley hesitated. 

Aziraphale would ask why. He could just lie and say he had other things to do but knowing the angel, he'd see right through the cover up. Then again, it had been the angel's side that had cleaned up this whole mess and most likely that meant Aziraphale would know what had happened. That is, if the Metatron bothered to share the information. If Crowley remembered correctly, the Metatron was a bit of a prat when it came to being mutually informative like that. 

But why shouldn't he just tell Aziraphale what he was doing? It wasn't like he was ordered specifically NOT to. And it wasn't as if he was doing anything that important. It was really work for an errand boy if one came right down to it. Just quick administrative stuff. Crowley had an idea that his past connections had landed him the pleasing job, anyway. So, why not just call up his counterpart and let him know?

It was then Crowley realized that it was because he didn't want to see Aziraphale at the moment. He didn't want the angel to offer to tag along or ask stupid questions like if things were okay. Redirecting his hand to reach for a pencil and paper, Crowley scribbled down a quick note. Rereading his message, the demon thought for a moment and then added another line to it. 

Satisfied, the demon reached over to the side of his neatly made up desk and extracted a strip of tape. Stepping outside his apartment, Crowley closed the door and taped his message over the peephole. He estimated that after an hour or two of waiting for him at the restaurant, Aziraphale would come by his place and see the message. Hopefully, the angel would take the hint to not follow. 

_A- _

_Gone to Wisconsin. Will be back in a couple of days._

_                                                            -C_

_PS: Don't water my plants. They are being punished._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More will come soon. 


	2. Making a Call

Right, so hello everyone!

Here's the next bit. Enjoy.

A new disclaimer: I don't own the usual demon or the angel, Pterry and Gneil do. And this Metatron I'll give the credit to Kevin Smith as well as the brilliant Alan Rickman. I didn't know which Metatron to go with and it seems easier to write the Dogma one so I just went with him. Hope no one minds. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley was late. 

It wasn't that unusual for the most part. Despite his talk about the greatness of modern technology, the demon did not wear a watch and was often tardy in meeting Aziraphale. But by the time hour three rolled around, Aziraphale was getting slightly perturbed. He had paced around the outside of the restaurant that had been their selected meeting place and by the second hour had been told by the manager to quit loitering else he would call the police. 

Finally, as rain began to drizzle down, Aziraphale decided to swing by Crowley's apartment. The angel guessed that Crowley had just forgotten. He was a demon after all and a general ability to be inconsiderate was in his nature. Not that Crowley had ever forgotten a lunch appointment with him before. He would be late but he didn't ever just not show up. Pushing his hands into his baggy tweed coat and upturning its collar against the London drizzle, Aziraphale walked swiftly to the demon's high priced lair.

Already before he reached the door, Aziraphale saw the white square of paper taped to the front of Crowley's door. Recognizing the messy penmanship, he pulled it off and read it. The angel's eyebrows rose in surprise. 

Wisconsin?

Why in Heaven's name would Crowley want to go to Wisconsin? Wisconsin was in the Midwest area of America, a section of the country that Crowley often made it his habit to ridicule. Why would he want to....

A thought sprung to the angel's mind. 

*Oh.....*

That could be the only reason. 

He hadn't spoken to either of them since their arrival on earth. Aziraphale hadn't been present the day the Angel of Death had stated in not too many words, "Screw you all!" and had abandoned his position. But the news had traveled to him rather fast. And he hadn't been too surprised to find out the Grigori had been the one to initiate the sudden resignation. He had always been the one with more influence, not to mention sly charm.

Folding Crowley's note into a neat square, Aziraphale concentrated, blanketing out this awareness a bit further. He stretched his senses to look for the familiar feeling of the two who could never really quite blend themselves into regular human society. The angel had never taken it upon himself to actively sense for them, after all, the Metatron had given strict instructions from God that part of their punishment was that they be kept away from all contacts to the Divine Presence. But that hadn't prevented Aziraphale from sensing their presence early on in their exile. Like two bright threads, weaved into a black tapestry. They were hard to spot but one could sort of sense them....like an old wound.

But there was nothing now. Not a single inkling that either one had even been on earth. 

The angel frowned. That was strange. What had happened? They couldn't have just....disappeared. Tucking the note into his coat pocket, Aziraphale turned to return to his bookshop. He'd have to place a call to the Metatron.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

"Oh, God Almighty, what now?" demanded a rather annoyed voice.

Blinking in mild surprise, Aziraphale blinked at the shaft of bright light. "Sorry?"

"Sorry? You're the one who called me. What do you want?" 

In the last few centuries, it was had been Aziraphale's opinion that the Metatron was becoming decidedly more....surly. But even with that admitted, the Metatron sounded more irate than usual. The angel decided it was best to get to the point. 

"Has something happened to Bartleby and Loki?"

The blue light noticeably flickered. "What makes you ask that?" inquired the now more formal sounding voice.

"I can't sense them on earth anymore."

"You haven't tried to contact them, have you? You had clear orders not to."

"No, no," Aziraphale replied hastily. "But I just happened to notice....ahhh...their absence. Has something happened to them?" he inquired, politely.

"Nothing as bad as what was going to happen to us and this whole damn planet," answered the Metatron. He gave the angel the abbreviated version. 

Aziraphale paused for a moment. Blinked a few times and then opened his mouth to utter a very articulate, "Oh."

"My sentiments exactly," said the Metatron, dryly. "I swear this is the last bloody time I'm going to do the crusade charging. There must be someone around here who'd want it as his permanent job. Plenty of you lower lot are clamoring to be specialized for some reason."

"So...so.." Aziraphale began, taking in the information. "Loki and Bartleby are...dead?"

"Stabbed in the side and head and heart blown up, respectively to be exact but yes, death was the end result."

"So....are they...?"

"Up here? Oh, not a chance," scoffed the Metatron. "Do you have any idea the number of innocents those two murdered? And with Bartleby...well, he did the ultimate bastard act by killing Loki, poor sod. And he called him his best friend." The Metatron snorted.

Aziraphale could only guess that if both Bartleby and Loki had turned human before dying from a sinful life, they must be in Hell. 

*Hell, Bartleby, Crowley*

The line of association quickly clicked in the angel's mind. 

"Well....thanks for the news," he said to the Metatron, trying to end the communication now without seeming too abrupt or eager.

"That Enemy of yours, the serpent....he say anything to you?" asked the blue light.

"No," Aziraphale answered, immediately. And that was certainly the truth.

"Reckon if those two are making a splash in Hell, he'd know about it."

"I suppose."

"The Grigori was a bit of a mate to him from before, wasn't he?"

"I really wouldn't know."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't" returned the Metatron. "It's been a rather stressful few days, so I'm off. Anything else?"

"No, no, thank you," replied the angel.

"Great. Cheers." The blue light blinked off. 

Aziraphale fell into dithering for a small portion of time. He was unsure of what exactly to do. It was obvious that Crowley either sensed the demise of Bartleby and Loki or he had been notified by his side. Aziraphale guessed the latter since Crowley wasn't one to really pay much attention to the goings on of other fallen angels. Not that there were that many who were banished to earth as exiled punishment. 

*If Hell's got Bartleby and Loki, why would they send Crowley to Wisconsin? And even if they did for whatever reason.....why wouldn't Crowley call me and let me know?*

A slow realization dawned on Aziraphale that Crowley wasn't supposed to technically tell him anything. They were both sent on this planet as adversaries after all. They had been the ones who had created their little agreement for mutual benefit. And Crowley's brief sojourn to Wisconsin did not exactly count as information that would be beneficial for either of them. It was just his own personal business. Still, Aziraphale wished Crowley had told him about going. The angel wondered if Crowley was upset at all about what had happened. 

In all the years both of them had been aware of Bartleby and Loki's exile, neither had spoken about it. Aziraphale, because he had been ordered more or less not to and Crowley because....well, the angel had no idea why. Perhaps he had been ordered as well. Or perhaps there had been other reasons. He hadn't really lied to the Metatron when he had stated he didn't know about Crowley's relationship to Bartleby. That had all been before Crowley's fall and before he had even known the now-demon terribly well. 

Running his fingers absently over the countertop of his small bookshop, Aziraphale spent another few minutes dithering before picking up his phone with steely resolve to make a reservation. 


	3. Musings in Flight

I seem to be having fun just writing Crowley now. He is ever so much   
fun to write about. Heehee. Here's a slightly shorter bit.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Around the time Aziraphale was pulling Crowley's note off his door,   
several metal detectors in Heathrow Airport began to screech and   
beep, causing severe traffic jams in the passenger flow and raising   
tempers as well as voices. This was all after a dark-haired young man   
in sunglasses had breezed by them without so much as a chirp from the   
detectors. He did not check in any luggage nor did he have a carry   
on. He did not even have a ticket but the attendant at the gates   
seemed to give him a blank smile as he passed on through and boarded   
the international flight, first class.   
  
Sitting down in his seat, Crowley just assumed in his head that any   
flight he was going to be on would not have a squalling baby on board   
that would no doubt cry through the entire duration of the flight and   
annoy the hell out of him. Luckily, there truly weren't any such   
babies on board this particular flight. Else a few squalling infants   
might have found themselves blinked out of existence.   
  
No one sat in the seat next to Crowley, just as the demon wished. He   
had the window on his right and decided to make himself busy by   
staring out of it. Crowley didn't enjoy flying. At least, not on   
planes. It really seemed such a clunky method of flight. He really didn't see the point in being in the skies if one couldn't feel the wind in one's face and hair. Being trapped in a flying box in the sky paled in comparison to soaring through the clouds with his wings.   
  
While Crowley had definitely gone more or less native when it came to   
most humanistic aspects, he could not abide by their methods of   
flight. Hangliding was really the closest thing they had invented that   
came close to what he could achieve with his wings. But one couldn't   
really maneuver in those awkward things. Crowley wrote a mental note   
that after this job was over, he'd treat himself to a nice long   
flight over the London city lights.   
  
*Fuck. I don't want to go to bloody Wisconsin to do a lousy errand   
boy's job * Crowley thought.   
  
He doubted Bartleby himself requested that he be the one to go to   
Wisconsin. The Prince of Darkness was probably in no mood to grant   
Bartleby any favors after the crap he had just tried to pull. If   
anything, both Bartleby and Loki were most likely....  
  
Crowley broke off his train of thought, not wanting to go there. It   
was probably pretty horrific and he had a fertile imagination that   
would try its darndest to conjure up some images.   
  
But what had Bartleby been thinking? He wasn't stupid. He must have   
realized the consequences of his actions. Giving God the big "Piss   
off!", getting yourself and your best friend kicked out of Heaven was   
one thing. But undoing it all? Hadn't Bartleby been lucid enough to   
realize that if Heaven was undone, his goal was pointless? There   
would be nothing for him to go home TO. Crowley guessed that the   
years of banishment to Wisconsin must have driven the fallen angel   
insane.   
  
Despite all of Bartleby's bravado, Crowley knew the Grigori had truly   
loved basking in the presence of God. Sure, he bitched and moaned   
about certain logistics in God's methods like any other soon-to-fall-  
deities. But Bartleby had never WANTED to leave Heaven. And that was   
the big step. So, he must have simply gone insane. He would have had   
to be to listen to Azrael. Everyone knew not to trust that prat. Both   
sides alike.   
  
The fallen angel must have been driven completely nutters. And for   
his sake, Bartleby had better have held on to his insanity. It would   
make his eternity in Hell possibly more bearable if he wasn't   
coherent to comprehend so much what was going on.   
  
*Well, he deserves it, bastard* thought Crowley, darkly. But in the   
privacy of his own thoughts, the demon knew he himself did not   
condemn Bartleby to eternal torture for trying to undo creation.   
Hell, he of all demons understood what it felt like to act on pure,   
unadulterated desire. It was the best part about being a demon, being   
allowed to act on his base longings. And if getting back into Heaven   
was Bartleby's cup of tea, then Crowley didn't fault him for at least   
making the attempt, no matter how insane or moronic it was.   
  
No, Bartleby deserved what he got for not having any moral boundaries   
whatsoever. Even demons had that. Even Crowley, who was a self-  
professed bastard knew when a line had to be drawn. And Bartleby had   
given the line the middle finger and crossed over it the moment he   
made the decision to kill Loki. That was low. His BEST friend, a TRUE   
friend and the one who suffered as well because of him. Bartleby, in   
the end, chose to stab his friend in the back (figuratively) and   
plunged a knife into his heart (literally).  
  
So, Bartleby deserved whatever was coming to him. Crowley only hoped   
that the resident minions of Hell would exercise some brain-power for   
once and actually come up with something creative to torture the   
Grigori. He could certainly think of a few things. He might send a   
memo.


	4. Welcome to Wisconsin

Okay, here's chapter four! Feedback please!

Aziraphale's plane touched down approximately six hours after Crowley's. It had been an unusually pleasant flight for the passengers that had ridden on the same plane as the angel's. Not a single person got airsick, nor did anyone's ears feel too clogged when they deplaned. The stewardesses could not think of a time when a flight had gone smoother with absolutely zero complaining from the passengers. Having had to usher away one too many sickbags, none of them were going to question their very good fortune on that particular flight. None of them had really taken notice of the tall, blond man who deplaned last after letting everyone else get off first. Although one stewardess who had served Aziraphale a drink felt the need to reassess her stereotype that gay men knew the latest in fashion.

Exiting the airport carrying nothing other than a small book in his coat pocket, Aziraphale looked around, taking in the state that was Wisconsin. He had never been before and he had long had a suspicion that Crowley's narrative concerning the Midwest state was not entirely accurate in its negativity. There certainly weren't as many cows as the demon claimed. After a few seconds of viewing, the angel concluded that Wisconsin was very.....flat. In both landscape and potential for either culture or mild excitement. 

But he had other things to do. Such as find Crowley.

He knew that Crowley most likely had landed in Wisconsin several hours before him and would have already reached where ever Bartleby and Loki had made their home on earth. The trouble was, Aziraphale had no clue where that was, exactly. He would have to rely on his abilities to hone in on Crowley instead. 

Walking with his hands folded neatly behind his back, Aziraphale gave off the aura of a man taking a casual stroll with little to no cares in the world. The fact was, however, was that the angel had quite a few cares at the moment. He felt slightly out of practice in trying to locate the demon by using his more divine senses. The last time he had done it was to find Crowley after the demon had disappeared for an insane amount of time. Aziraphale had located him after a few hours, lying on his back, apparently sleeping. 

That had been strange. Aziraphale had known that neither he nor Crowley actually *needed* to sleep. But it seemed the demon was giving it a go, nonetheless. Aziraphale's first compulsion had been to shake Crowley awake, annoyed with himself for actually having been worried about the demon for going missing. But the look on Crowley's face....that had been something Aziraphale had never seen before. The demon had looked strangely peaceful. Almost...innocent in the way his features remained soft as he dreamt away. Aziraphale had not the heart to disrupt that expression. It seemed all too rare. Now, unfortunately, Crowley was worrying Aziraphale all over again for taking off to visit where two fallen angels had once been without telling him. 

*Crowley tells me everything. Even trivial temptation plans he makes. Usually I can't get him to shut up. Why was this any different?*

Aziraphale really hadn't been lying to the Metatron when he had said he didn't really know the relationship Crowley and Bartleby had held when both of them had been agents of Heaven. But he had often spotted them together whenever Bartleby had not been hanging out with the Angel of Death. The two always seemed to be intensely discussing something every time it seemed. Aziraphale had never intruded to find out what exactly. 

Crowley had fallen before Bartleby. And if Aziraphale remembered correctly, his counterpart had been cast down around the same time as Azrael. That had been a rather embarrassing event. Lots of begging, crying, and kicking had been involved....coming mostly from the former Muse. But Crowley had gone down rather casually. Even taking the time to give all of Heaven a wink and a wave before tumbling down. Although Crowley's tumble had looked closer to a saunter. 

As the angel passed by on the sidewalk his first set of traffic lights, he realized he did not know the exact reason for Crowley's decision to join the other side. In all the years, he had never asked. He had just assumed that the demon had simply agreed with the Morningstar's notion that he deserved the throne. But had that really been it? That clear and simple? The more Aziraphale dwelled on it, the more he realized it was not in Crowley's personality to think that Satan deserved to take over. 

But for now, he'd have to concentrate on just finding Crowley.

*It shouldn't be difficult. This place is remarkably flat. It doesn't offer very many hiding places.*


	5. A Look Into Exile on Earth

Here's the next part. Thanks for the feedback everyone! They all make me soooo happy! Okay, too much coffee and not enough natural sleep. Unlike demons and angels, I need it. Darn it all, being human.....

Errrr...anyway, here we go.

~~~~~~~~~~

_"Do you really think that...well...that HE, knows it all?"_

_"You even ask?"_

_"Seems like a logical question to me."_

_"I think it's probably better that you not even go there."_

_"So, you think there's even a THERE for me to go?"_

_"Just leave it alone."_

_"The way I see it...the way I see it....if He knows everything then what's even the bother of us all even doing what we do? Why would He even bother-"_

_"Okay, you really need to shut up now."_

_"I'm just saying-"_

_"Nothing. You're just saying nothing."_

++++++++++++++++

A small green Jeep was doing 100 miles down a stretch of flat road. Outside its windows, black and white blurs that were cows could be seen. Behind its wheel, Crowley was studying a book titled "Sights of Wisconsin". He had picked it up at the airport bookstore after seeing the front cover, which donned a small herd of cows. Crowley felt the author of the book obviously had the right idea. The author also had been kind enough to insert a rather detailed map in his book, which was what Crowley found truly useful. While Hell had been kind enough to plunk his new mission into his head, it had neglected to leave a guide of where he would find Bartleby and Loki's old home.

Raising his eyes, the demon saw the sign he had been looking out for. Taking the wheel in hand, Crowley gave it a might wrench, causing the Jeep to spin around and miraculously not fall over. As the tires squealed on the road, a cloud of smoke rose up from the abused rubber, causing the nearby cows to choke on the fumes.  

"Oh, quit your bloody complaining!" growled the demon as herds moo-ed in protest. "You don't have to go skulking around abandoned homes of former angels just to please the Prince of Darkness," he added before pausing to truly re-evaluate his current mental health. 

*I'm talking to cows. I need to get out of Wisconsin as soon as possible. It is not agreeing with me.*

Tossing the guide book on the passenger seat, Crowley gunned the Jeep to 110 miles.

++++++++++++++++++

Crowley blessed softly under his breath as he pulled the Jeep up to his destination. Before him stood a small house painted a faded peach color that had seen one too many rainy days. A metal fence lined its surrounding patch of sickly grass that could be considered a front lawn. A disturbingly cheerful looking garden gnome greeted Crowley with its drugged out smile as he got out of the Jeep. Next to the gnome was a miniature windmill whose mills lazily moved as a breeze drifted through. 

If the demon hadn't noticed the cloudiness of the day before, seeing the house certainly gloomed the atmosphere for him. Waving his hand vaguely in front of him, still in slight shock, he gestured the front fence to open. Slowly, Crowley advanced upon the depressing looking home, doing his best to ignore the garden gnome. As he walked up the wooden porch, he could hear them groaning under the strain. Various letters stuck out in the black metal box that was attached near the front door. Taking the first few that were peeking out, the demon sifted through them. They were all addressed to: "Current Resident". This was the place, alright.

Grabbing the remaining mail, Crowley stood on the dirt brown mat that read: "Welcome" and gestured the door to open. The actual door did, Crowley himself had to yank a little at the fly-screen door to enter the house. The inside was dark and had a slightly chilled feeling to it, as if no one had lived in it for quite some time. Crowley perused the area with his eyes that saw the livingroom as easily as he could had it been lit and was rather surprised to find it fairly neat. The only thing that indicated that anyone even had ever lived there were the piles of TV Guide that were spread out on the coffee table near the couch and actual TV set. 

The demon snorted. "When He means punishment, He's nastier than any of us." Crowley certainly couldn't envision a more depressing residence.

Sitting down on the mustard/brown colored couch, he quickly went through the rest of the mail. Most were junk mails, some coupons and the latest TV Guide, which he placed next to the rest for symmetry's sake. Getting back up, he told himself to hurry along and find the damn envelope so he could get this over with. Crowley glanced around and after establishing that the door closer to where he had come through was a bathroom, he tested out the door on the right side of the room.

It was obviously Loki's room. Old comic books, cassette tapes, CD's, paperbacks, and what looked like week old socks were littered all over the floor. The bed was unmade and if it ever had been made, Crowley was not entirely sure. He doubted it. Loki had always been somewhat of a slob, if he remembered correctly. A few movie posters graced the walls, none of the titles which Crowley recognized except for "Clerks". The demon had particularly enjoyed that film when it had first come out. He had forced Aziraphale to watch it with him half a dozen times.

By the far wall, closer to the window was a small dart board. Tacked up to the board was a photo of an actor Crowley recognized from the television series "Touched by an Angel." The demon had watched that show once with Aziraphale and had howled with uncontrollable laughter as the angel looked on, red with shame. But he recognized the photo as the actor who had played the Angel of Death on that series. Several darts had been punched through his face and body. Smirking, Crowley inched his way around the room, once in awhile picking up a book and shaking it to see if anything fell out. After a few more minutes of crude searching, he decided Loki would most likely not have what he was looking for. 

He decided to try his luck in Bartleby's room. Opening it, Crowley found himself staring at the product of anal retentiveness at its best. The bed was neatly made, the comforter almost pressed down with care. Next to the bed was a small set of shelves that held several CD's and books all neatly arranged and organized alphabetically. There was nothing on the walls, not even a single poster or picture to indicate any personality. Walking over to the shelf of CD's, Crowley bent over and took a look. It seemed Bartleby was a fan of the 70's. 

Crowley ran a finger over the titles, a bitter smile on his lips. *Smug bastard. Where are you now, you bloody traitor? Suffering in Hell. Enjoy the irony of that.*

He turned around and looked at the pin neat bed again. On the nightstand that held a lamp, a small clock was the object Crowley had been looking for. Picking up the half folded rectangular piece of paper, the demon creased out the envelope that had already been opened and emptied of its contents and read the back of it. 

"FOR THE ATTENTION OF BARTLEBY AND LOKI"

For the attention of....it was obviously the envelope that had carried the newspaper clippings sent by Azrael. Only the former Muse would choose to say in three words what could be said in one. Crowley held the envelope closer to his eyes. Knowing what he was looking for, the demon quickly saw it in the ink on the envelope. It glittered slightly, despite having been dried several days ago. It shimmered under his gaze, showing itself to be definitely unusual. It whispered and hinted to Crowley of the incantation Azrael had done to protect Bartleby and Loki from both Heaven and Hell's notice. 

While the former Muse had cast the spell miles away, he had tainted the envelope with its essence it order to insure that the two would be hidden away. Crowley's superiors had told informed him that those responsible for giving Azrael the incantation (though unknowingly) had been dealt with. Crowley only needed to make sure that the envelope carrying the spell be destroyed so that not even Heaven's agents could get a hold of it. Refolding the envelope, Crowley gave it a look and the paper burst into flames. Within seconds, it was no more than a small pile of ashes on the floor. 

*Mission accomplished*

Brushing his fingers away of any lingering ashes, Crowley squinted his eyes, noticing a second door in Bartleby's room that had not been in Loki's. Curious, the demon turned the handle and opened it. The mystery door led to a regular closet. A regular, small sized closet. Except for a few details. 

Crowley's eyes widened behind his sunglasses as he looked inside. After a few moments of stunned staring, the demon closed the door again, controlling his arm not to slam it shut. For a few seconds, Crowley stood in front of the closed closet door, unblinking. Finally, he settled on a course of action. He was going to find a drink.


	6. Local Scene

Hello everyone. Here's the next part. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a good while of brisk walking, Aziraphale found himself standing outside of a bar. Dusk had fallen by that time and the establishment's neon sign was lit. It looked less than pleasant but the angel couldn't miss the energy that emanated from it, indicating that Crowley was inside. As he opened the door, Aziraphale barely missed getting beamed in the head by a glass. It instead shattered against the wall next to the angel, dousing him with the liquor it had held. 

"Jesus Christ, Mike!" shouted an angry voice. "You're gonna pay for that drink AND glass." 

"Shut the fuck up!" the aforementioned Mike retorted back. 

Aziraphale blinked, drying himself off of the alcohol as Mike clamored back down in his seat. 

"Sorry about that, pal," said the bartender, gruffly. "He's not always like that. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed it seems," he added, shoving a thumb in the more subdued Mike's direction. 

"That's quite alright," Aziraphale replied, nonplussed. 

The bartender's eyes narrowed slightly at hearing the angel's voice. "Hey...is there a conference of you guys or something?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Some tour group from England or something?"

The angel gave him a blank stare from behind his thin glasses before catching on. "Oh...oh, yes, well....ahhh...in a sense it's more of a...."

"Cause if you are, mind getting your tour buddy out of here?" demanded the bigger man as he picked a glass to fill. "He's been drinking half of my supply since 2 this afternoon and won't leave." He pressed down on the tap but nothing came out. Swearing darkly, the bartender pushed on the lever again but only air sputtered through. 

Aziraphale's eyes traveled from the struggling bartender to a hunched figure sitting far back in a booth. 

"I'll see to it," promised the angel, absently as he walked by the bar towards Crowley. As he moved through, the bar's tap sudden began to pour out its liquid smoothly. The bartender didn't notice until he took a sip that it was apple cider. He frowned, puzzled, but finished the glass. It was damn good cider.

Crowley sat at the booth, thumbing through a now very worn copy of "Sights of Wisconsin." He didn't even glance up as Aziraphale slid into the seat across from him. 

"Thought that was you," said the demon from behind the book. His voice slurred slightly from the effects of several drinks. "The locals seemed more civilized all of a sudden."

"Spreading your talents to America now?" inquired the angel, trying to keep his voice light.

"It's like shooting fish in a barrel with this lot," snorted Crowley. As if on cue, a loud curse was heard, followed by the quick destruction of the bar's pinball machine at the hands of the disgruntled loser. Aziraphale stared with wide eyes as bits of glass flew due to a boot being shoved into the machine's front. He turned around and faced Crowley again who was giving him a drunken grin. 

"Really, my dear..." he said, disapprovingly.

"What? Him? I didn't even bother him. See what I mean? These people can put me out of the job." Crowley stirred the straw in his most recent drink and took a large gulp of it. He nearly missed placing the glass back on the table and succeeded in spilling a good amount of it. 

"How long have you been drinking?" asked Aziraphale, taking a small napkin and wiping some of the alcohol the demon had spilled. 

"Forgot."

"Maybe you should get rid of some before you have any more," Aziraphale suggested, helpfully. 

"Oh, fuck OFF, angel!" hissed Crowley, suddenly furious. Aziraphale blinked in surprise at the outburst. "Did you come all this way just to piss me off?"

"No, Crowley. I was worried about you. I got your note-"

"And you couldn't take a hint, obviously," growled the demon, taking a hold of his drink again. 

"I heard about Bartleby and Loki," Aziraphale soldiered on. 

"Ah," muttered Crowley into his drink. "Upstairs give you a mission, too?"

"No. No, they cleared that up themselves."

"Hm. So, why're you here?"

"You sounded upset in your note."

"Upset? I said I was off to Wisconsin and that I'd be back in a few days." The demon stirred his drink again, thoughtfully. "Did I sound upset in my PS or something?"

Aziraphale bit his lip as he regarded his brooding counterpart. Crowley looked about as messy as Aziraphale could ever remember him looking. Only his sunglasses remained sitting neatly on his face, obscuring his eyes as usual. Now that the angel had found him, he didn't have much of an idea of what to do. But the fact he knew he was right, and that Crowley was upset about something gave him some confidence to press on. 

"Did you finish what you have to do here?" he asked, politely.

Crowley chuckled as he began to punch his straw into the ice. "Yeah. Pretty much." Fishing out the remaining maraschino cherry, Crowley popped the entire thing in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he stared over at Aziraphale. "See their old house?" he asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. "No. Is it nice?"

Crowley snorted. "And He says He's benevolent."

"He doesn't say that. People do."

"Yeah, but you don't see him denying it," Crowley pointed out. They lapsed back into a short silence. "Do you agree? With what he did? Throwing them out because Bartleby convinced Loki not to kill anymore people?"

Aziraphale shifted a little in his seat but he looked rather calm and sure as he answered. "I believe He acts according to the Ineffable Plan. And we are all part of it. Even Bartleby and Loki. And even you."

"It doesn't bother you in the least that their part in it gave them the short end of the stick?"

"You don't know that."

"Angel, I've been in Hell. I've had the tour of what they do to beings they don't like down there. It's not a cake-walk. Believe me, they got the short end of the stick."

Aziraphale's blue eyes looked sympathetic. "Have...have you been told what's happening to them?"

Sucking on the stem of the eaten cherry, Crowley pulled it out of his mouth to reveal he had tied it in a neat bowtie with his tongue. "I actually thought they had it pretty bad down there. But now....sounds like this place was doing a pretty good job on them, anyway. Especially Bartleby."

He said the Grigori's name like it tasted bad. 

"You were friends with Bartleby, weren't you?" asked Aziraphale. 

Tossing the cherry stem bowtie to one side, Crowley moved to get up. "Come on, angel. Time for a drive," he announced loudly, his voice indicating that he was going to go with or without Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale hastily moved to follow Crowley who weaved in his walking. "Where are we going?" 

"Check out Hell on Earth." 


	7. Hell and Heaven on Earth

Just one more chapter after this! Thanks for reading and feedbacking everyone!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale sat in his seat and tried to keep calm. Which wasn't very easy as each time he found himself getting closer to relaxing a single muscle, Crowley jerked the wheel of the Jeep. After all the drinks he had consumed and his subsequent refusal to get it out of his system with his powers, the demon was having problems remembering which side of the road to be on. And steering the car with only one hand (as the other was occupied with holding a beer can) wasn't helping matters.

"You're going to kill someone!" Aziraphale finally protested.

"Out here? I'd sooner hit a farm animal," snorted Crowley as he weaved the Jeep down the road. "And besides, even if I do, human or animal alike. I've got you with me," he added, grinning over at the angel. "You can cure 'em with a wave of your hand."

"Watch the road!" the blond man demanded, clutching on to the dashboard. He was having problems orienting himself, being on what felt like the wrong side of the car. 

"Hey, did the Metatron tell you how Azrael got snuffed?" asked Crowley, taking a sip from his drink. He didn't even wait for Aziraphale to answer. "Done in by a fat man with a golf putter!" he chortled, slamming the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "Fucking humiliating way to go! Only wish I coulda seen it."

"It wasn't terribly pleasant, I hear," replied Aziraphale.

"Oh, lighten up, angel."

"When you stop going at 110 on the roads, *demon*."

"Well, here's your wish. We're here anyway," said Crowley. Giving the Jeep's wheel a mighty twist, he let go of the steering instrument and waved his hand to open the metal fence door. The Jeep barely crashed through the small opening and thudded onto the depressing garden with a loud crunch.

"You hit something," stated the angel.

"Nah. Just the garden gnome," waved off Crowley. As he opened his door with a kick, the Jeep groaned from the abuse. "You'd never hear complaining like this from the Bentley. Damn, I miss that car," he said, mournfully.

"Then maybe we should just go home?" Aziraphale suggested, getting out and gently closing the Jeep's door.

"First, you see this," Crowley instructed. Waving his arm about in a grand gesture, the demon shuffled back a few steps towards the direction of the house. "The last residence of Bartleby and Loki." Crowley swept his arm across, causing beer to fly and almost losing his balance. Rushing forward, Aziraphale kept him upright. Clamping his own hand around the one Aziraphale had on his arm, the demon pulled at him, feeling drunker than ever. "Come on. Lessee what they've been up to," he slurred.

Aziraphale's blue eyes seemed to glow under the cast of the moonlight as he regarded the dark-haired demon. "Alright, Crowley," he said, resigned. Stumbling along with his drunken counterpart, the angel waved open the door and assisted Crowley at the steps. Finally getting them both in, Aziraphale flipped on a light switch and looked around. 

Crowley had been right. The place was depressing. 

As the demon pulled himself up against the wall, Aziraphale moved forward slightly and looked into the main livingroom. It looked like something out of the 70's with its brown/mustard motif. He noticed the two doors on either side.

"Which is which?" he asked. 

"Loki's is that one," directed the demon. "Got his personality written all over it."

Aziraphale peeked inside. A faint smile appeared on his face at the sight of the clutter all over the floor as well as bed. *Loki. Messy as ever.* He walked in, treading carefully, as if he might disturb something. He looked around at the comic books, magazines, and CD's that littered the floor. All the titles he did not recognize. But his eyes rested on the several board games that were more or less stacked against a wall as well as a small collection of knick knacks. Carefully, the angel took a small snow globe from Loki's shelf and shook it and watched as the snow settled back down on the miniature Wisconsin. 

Aziraphale smiled. Loki. Loki, who was punished for listening to his friend. Who had been punished for agreeing with compassion. He knew many of his colleagues had looked upon Loki as a fool for even listening to Bartleby. The Metatron had often said that Bartleby had been the brains of the pair. But Aziraphale knew different. 

Loki wasn't a fool. He had simply trusted his friend. And the goodness of God. Even his room showed that he had gone about the most intelligent method of dealing with his punishment by trying to integrate into life on earth. He had begun to appreciate the way things worked on earth. 

Setting the globe back in its place, Aziraphale walked back out to find Crowley watching television, sitting back on the couch. "What is this?" asked the angel, settling down next to the demon, whose eyes looked slightly glazed as a colorful set of letters spelled out "MOOBY!" on the screen. 

"Something starring a cow," answered Crowley. "It's like this place can't get enough." He looked over at Aziraphale. "See the room?"

"Yes," answered the angel. 

"What did you think?"

"It....it makes me miss Loki a good deal," Aziraphale replied with a sad smile. The pale light of the television bathed his face and small, distorted images of Mooby reflected on the lens of his glasses. "I always liked him."

"Bit of a thickie."

"No, not really," the angel said, mildly defensive. "He was trying to be an open-minded friend."

Crowley remained silent as he looked back at the television set. "Yeah...yeah, he was," he replied, his tone strangely serious. 

Aziraphale looked over at him and watched for a moment as the colors from the television made faint patches on Crowley's pale face. The demon didn't sound so inebriated anymore. Aziraphale wondered if he had miracled the alcohol away. He was about to ask something when the demon got up from his seat. "Come on. Time to see the other one's," announced the demon. He held out a hand and pulled the angel up.

 Still holding on to the angel's hand, Crowley pushed the door to Bartleby's room open and led him in. Looking around, Aziraphale could only compliment the cleanliness of it. The walls were blank with no decorations, unlike Loki's. The shelves only had books and CD's that the angel inspected. 

"What's 'Velvet Goldmine'?" he asked. 

"70's music....of a kind. You wouldn't like it," answered Crowley. 

Straightening, Aziraphale took a more inspecting look of the room. "It's very....simple. But nice. Nice and...."

"Simple?"  
  


"Exactly."

Moving past him, Crowley approached another door near the neatly made bed. "Just this left, then," he said. With little ceremony, the demon opened the closet door and switched on the light in it. Aziraphale blinked, not sure of what he was seeing for a moment. 

The lack of decoration in his actual room seemed to be making itself up in Bartleby's closet. There were no clothes in the closet and the metal bar that should have been across on top had been removed. The walls were covered with random clippings from magazines, postcards, newspapers, photographs, and even torn out canvases of paintings. They alternated in being images of the sky, clouds, fire, and what looked like the desert. They were pasted all over the entire area of the closet, even the floor. Carefully chosen pale colors of paint had been brushed over areas of the collage as well as strokes of harder, brighter colors. Over that were incomprehensible sketches out of pencil and markers that Bartleby had done himself. Glitter had also been pasted in some parts of all different kinds of colors, as well as some other kind of paint that shimmered under the lightbulb. In the middle of the closet was a chair that Crowley was currently occupying. 

"What....what I am looking at?" asked Aziraphale, turning around full circle where he stood. 

"Can't you guess?"

"It's all so.....disturbing," said the angel. And it was. He couldn't explain why but the entire area disturbed him, as if he was looking at something perverse. 

"It's Heaven, angel," Crowley answered.

"Heaven?" Aziraphale looked around with wide eyes. "But it's not it at all. Heaven isn't even close to all of this. This," he said, gesturing. "It's almost sick."

"It's Bartleby's attempt to try and recreate how Heaven looked."

"How did you even guess that?"

"Because this is close to how I see Heaven. Or as best as I can describe it."

Aziraphale stopped in his gawking of the walls and looked over at the demon who sat in the single chair. "Crowley, you know Heaven doesn't look like this."

"Really? It's the only image I've got in my mind, angel," the demon answered flippantly. But his voice sounded heavy with a knowledge that dawned on Aziraphale. 

"You don't remember what Heaven looks like," the blond man stated, quietly.

"Got knocked out of me when I fell, just like some other things you claim from time to time. Instead, I've got something like this in my head." Crowley gestured vaguely to the walls. "I figured it made sense for me. After all, I turned demon. But I somehow thought God would let Bartleby and Loki keep their image." Leaning back in the chair, Crowley tilted his head back, his sunglasses slipping more firmly onto his face. "Apparently, Bartleby missed the place so damn much he tried to feel closer to it by making all of this."

"He really thought this was Heaven?" said Aziraphale.

"No, don't be stupid, angel," snorted Crowley. "Even *I* know this isn't what Heaven looks like. We just no longer have the ability to express it or explain it anymore. It's not our right. We dropped out of that team." 

Aziraphale looked around the images again, an overwhelming sadness for Bartleby filled him. The former Grigori's attempt at making something as close to home as possible was so desperate, it threatened to break Aziraphale's heart. Aziraphale who had barely known Bartleby. Blue eyes traveled to Crowley who sat in the midst of his old friend's ultimate suffering and the angel felt a new sympathy for the demon. One that the demon apparently sensed.

"Don't feel bad for me, angel," said Crowley. "I'm rather enjoying myself of how much the bastard probably writhed in misery in here. Most likely this of all things helped push him over the edge enough to want to go all out and wage war on Him."

"I thought you liked Bartleby."

"I also once thought that being an angel was fun," said the demon, dryly. "So, fuck Bartleby and his whining. I've got loads of ideas Hell should test out on him. I'll really have to send a memo."

"Crowley!"

"He deserves it!" Crowley snapped, angrily. "He deserves the torture product of every creative brain in Hell. Which, I grant you, isn't much."

"You're that angry at him for trying to undo existence?" asked Aziraphale. It didn't make much sense to him. Really, then, Crowley should be ranting about Azrael who had initiated the whole thing. 

Crowley looked up at the angel through his sunglasses. "He deserves it because he killed Loki. He killed his best friend. You can't *do* that." Aziraphale's eyebrows rose slightly at the deadly seriousness of the demon's voice. It was incredibly unfamiliar. Pulling off his sunglasses, Crowley looked at the angel with his yellow slitted eyes. "Bartleby betrayed Loki. His BEST friend for fuck's sake. You never betray your friend. Never. It isn't done."

Something inexplicably honest and true glowed in Crowley's eyes. It wasn't the usual impassioned look he got when he managed to create another amount of chaos in the world. It was lacked all light humor and cynicism. Aziraphale saw firm belief in a principle in Crowley's eyes and it silenced him for a moment. Crowley stalked past him, out of the ill-made Heaven. 

Aziraphale slowly followed and walked into the livingroom that was now silent of all sounds and where Crowley stood with his back to the angel. As Aziraphale walked closer, Crowley turned around, his eyes still exposed. They glimmered in the darkened room, laced with a hint of anxiety. "I'd never do that to you, Aziraphale. You know that, don't you?" The confession surprised Aziraphale, but only because Crowley had confessed it. Not because Aziraphale did not believe it or already know it. Stepping closer to the angel, Crowley clasped his wrist. "You're the Enemy....according to Hell."

"According to Heaven as well," Aziraphale said, softly.

Crowley nodded, the yellow eyes gazing at him with a frightening intensity. "Right. But I'd never hurt you." 

Aziraphale nodded as well. "I know that, Crowley," he said.

"It's important...to me...that you believe me."

Aziraphale smiled trustingly at Crowley. Placing his free hand to the demon's pale face, he said, serenely. "I do. Of course I do."


	8. Going Home

Well, here it is. The story's conclusion!

I knew my one small funny bone could only last so long. 

Hope everyone liked reading it about half as much as I liked writing it.

This is the last one so some FEEDBACK please!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a plane traveling to London's Heathrow Airport, the passengers did not feel terribly well nor terribly sick. Like most other times, it was a normal flight with the usual mix of complainers and tranquil travelers. In the First Class seating area, Crowley and Aziraphale sat, watching the in-flight movie. The angel sat with his legs crossed at the ankles with his feet resting on the small foot-stool that the first class flights offered. Crowley just draped himself over the seat, sinking down low and letting his legs stretch out a good several inches past Aziraphale's. 

"So, he leaves Heaven because he's lusting after that woman," explained Crowley, having already seen the film. 

"That's terrible!" said Aziraphale.

"He does it all in the name of good, hot sex."

"I rather think its because he falls in love with her."

"And to have sex with her."

"That's a side point."

"So, that makes it okay then?"

"He fell in love."

"Oh, I see. So, if an angel finds himself wanting to shag a woman-"

"Crow-ley."

"-that he LOVES, I was getting there, I was getting there. It's all okay because it's love. But when an angel gets disgruntled with his job and begins to think he's just being used as a slave for some two-faced deity, it's suddenly a problem?"

Aziraphale gave him as good a look as an angel could muster. "My dear, I'm not even going to answer that."

"Oh, fine. Fine, hide behind your thin veil of offended angelic sensibilities," said Crowley, sounding like his usual self. 

"We always have the same arguments that go around and around. Especially when its you trying to make a fruitless point." Crowley only brushed away the comment and turned his attentions back to his "Sights of Wisconsin" book again, having lost interest in the film. "For someone who loathed the state, you seem pretty engrossed in the book," commented Aziraphale. 

"I'm doing some research. Hanging out with the locals gave me some good ideas for when I get back to London." The demon grinned from beneath his glasses. "Time to make up for some lost times. You didn't water my plants, did you?"

"No, no. I left them alone, poor things."

"Good."

After a few more moments of viewing, Aziraphale shook his head. "I think I preferred the German version. At least that one didn't portray Grigoris as...."

"Shady characters?" supplied Crowley.

"Something like that," Aziraphale replied. Pausing, the angel glanced back at the small screen. "He *is* supposed to be a Grigori, correct?"

"I doubt the filmmakers really looked into it. The average person doesn't even know what a Grigori is." 

Aziraphale nodded in sad agreement. "It's depressing, really. Did you know that the majority of the people here think that Satan himself caused the Fall of Man?"

"Well, he did...indirectly."

"But you're the one who actually did the tempting," Aziraphale pointed out. 

A rather fond smile crossed Crowley's lips. "Yeah...my first big job. I was rather proud of that. Even if I had no bloody clue what was going on. It was ripping fun." Shrugging at what seemed like a blissful memory, the demon looked back to his book. Aziraphale stole a few glances over at him, shifting in his seat. This continued for a good few minutes before Crowley put down his book and stared at the angel. "What?" he asked. "Come on, out with it."

"I had a question for you," Aziraphale said, apologetically.

"Okay."

"It might be rather...personal."

Putting his finger over his place, Crowley closed the book and turned slightly to look at Aziraphale at a better angle. "Let's hear it."

The angel cleared his throat, buying himself some time to try and think of a more tactful way to ask his question. Giving up around his third time of clearing his throat, he just asked. "Why did you decide to leave Paradise?" 

"Ah. That."

Crowley's eyes were not visible through his dark glasses. 

Aziraphale gave him a mild smile. "It's just that...I've known you for quite a bit of time now and I realized that I still don't know."

"You didn't assume the whole 'All Hail Lucifer!' campaign getting me?"

"You don't strike me as that type," replied Aziraphale. "So..so I thought I'd ask now." Crowley rested his book on the armrest between them, forgetting about keeping his place in his read. Seeing the obvious hesitation in the demon, Aziraphale frowned. "Oh dear, it is too personal, isn't it?"

Raising his head, Crowley gave him a half grin. "Just a bit, yeah." 

"You don't have to say anything then."

"Not many people know. Well, two to be exact. One's God, of course. The other's down *there*," indicated the demon.

"Lucifer," concluded Aziraphale.

"No, Bartleby."

The angel blinked. "Oh."

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Crowley shook his head slightly. "That was a mistake. I shouldn't have had that conversation with him. I should have known he would have gone and said something."

"He *told* on you?" Aziraphale looked mildly perturbed, which was about as disgusted as an angel could get. 

"Not that it mattered. The big War thing sort of broke out the next day so...you know. Extraneous timing," said Crowley, breezily. "In any case, it's a done deal. Besides," he added, giving Aziraphale a wider grin that hinted at the damage it could do. "I think my current job suits me just fine."

+++++++++++++++++++++

By the time the second airline movie had begun, Crowley had decided to give sleep another whirl. Still sitting next to him with his neat posture, Aziraphale watched as the demon drifted off to sleep. The large blue eyes behind the lenses regarded Crowley's face as he slept, sunglasses still firmly in place. It didn't look as peaceful as it had last time, which for some reason saddened the angel a good deal. 

After a few moments of thoughtful pondering, Aziraphale leaned over so that he was close to Crowley's ear as the demon slept on. He wasn't sure if it worked on demons but he figured if angels could be tempted, demons could possibly be soothed. 

"You're going to have a lovely dream," he whispered. "About...ah..about whatever it is that gives you the greatest happiness," he suggested. "And when you wake up you'll feel quite refreshed and-"

"What are you doing, angel?" asked Crowley, amused and obviously awake from behind his glasses. 

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to actually wake you."

"You say something about giving me the greatest pleasure and expect me to sleep through that?" 

"Happiness, Crowley! I said, HAPPINESS," Aziraphale stated, moving back into his own seat.

"Oh, calm down, angel. I was only joking," chuckled the demon. "But you'll be wasting your time. Can't tempt me with your angelic ways," Crowley said, sounding like he was going to drift off again. "Thanks anyway," he added, before shifting further into his seat and going back to sleep. 

Glancing at the slumbering demon, Aziraphale only gave the dark figure a fond look before going back to watching the movie.

THE END

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More begging inserted here for FEEDBACK!!


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